Chris hesitated for one beat too long, then exhaled and obeyed. His towel slipped slightly down his shoulders as he faced the window, the light casting pale gold across his skin. In the reflection, he could see Dax behind him, tall and composed, his expression unreadable.
The first touch was feather-light. Dax's hand brushed the side of his neck, steadying him, his fingers impossibly warm against skin that felt suddenly too exposed. The cold weight of the collar was followed by a whisper of metal gliding against the base of his throat as Dax secured it.
Chris's breath stuttered.
"This isn't necessary," he said, though it came out too low, too thin.
"It's kind of late to retreat now," Dax murmured. "I made the collar for myself, too."
His fingers found the clasp at the back and paused for a moment. The hum of pheromones stirred faintly under his touch, the collar recognizing its maker, waiting.
